


i'd probably still adore you with your hands around my neck

by Anonymous



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Asphyxiation, Choking, M/M, Morally Dubious Porn Without Plot, Pacific Rim Uprising Spoilers, Precursors Newt, Verbal Humiliation, at the VERY least MILD dub con, excessive use of run-on sentences, fucked up dirty talk, hermann's ethics vs. hermann's raging boner FIGHT, this is....uh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 16:55:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14265507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: But Newt’s eyes are cold and hard and he’s rolling up his sleeves and those strong, strong hands are closing in around Hermann’s throat (I’m sorry, Hermann, they’re in my head) and squeezing and Hermann thinks only oh, my God, oh, my God, because how can he have ever been so wrong in what he thought he wanted?--That One Scene, except, you know. (because someone had to do it eventually)





	i'd probably still adore you with your hands around my neck

**Author's Note:**

> i almost called this "choke me daddy" (and went with a mildly ironic arctic monkeys song instead, because 2018 is the year of 2013)
> 
> posted anonymously so i can still look at myself in the mirror every morning

Hermann could never—would never—deny he’s considered Newt in ways that transgress beyond mere friendship in the past, that he _still_ considers them, even after Newt pulled further and further away from him and Hermann clung tighter and tighter (and, well, that makes sense now, doesn’t it?) He’s lost hours dreaming and touching himself to what the soft lines of Newt’s body would feel like pressed flush against him and moving, what those strong, strong hands would feel like mapping his skin, how Newt’s lashes would flutter over those lovely green eyes while Hermann pushes into him and makes him gasp and sigh and—but gentle, always gentle, always kisses and whispers and oaths of adoration, because Newt would be a soft lover—

But Newt’s eyes are cold and hard and he’s rolling up his sleeves and those strong, strong hands are closing in around Hermann’s throat ( _I’m sorry, Hermann, they’re in my head_ ) and _squeezing_ and Hermann thinks only _oh, my God, oh, my God,_  because how can he have ever been so _wrong_ in what he thought he wanted?

Newt—but it’s not Newt, not anymore, even though it looks and smells and feels like Newt, and the knowledge makes Hermann _ill_ —betrays his surprise for only a moment with a glance down and the most minute loosening of his fingers, because Hermann—God help him—Hermann’s _hard_.

“Oh,” Newt says, and Hermann’s face burns with humiliation and disgust. “Oh,” he says again, with a grin that’s too sharp to be Newt’s, “ _Interesting_.” He tightens his fingers once more, almost curious, like he’s testing a theory, like Hermann’s his own personal shaking lab rat, and spots dance before Hermann’s eyes and his throat burns and his cock _throbs_.

“I wouldn’t have thought you were the type,” Newt says conversationally, as if this was part of _his_ plan, as if he hadn’t been trying to kill Hermann moments earlier, and Hermann tries desperately to preserve some dignity and make a futile struggle against Newt. But Newt—it’s _not_ Newt—slides his thigh between Hermann’s legs and Hermann can only weakly stroke the soft skin of Newt’s hand with his thumb because oh, it feels— He can’t bring himself to fight back because he _won’t_ hurt Newt, because he _knows_ Newt’s in there, he _saw_ him take back control for a moment ( _they’re in my head, they’re in my head, they’re in my head_ ), and that’s what he tells himself when he grinds down against Newt and bares his throat further.

Several things happen in a flash: Newt shoves Hermann against the wall, fingers digging uncomfortably into Hermann’s windpipe now, and with his free hand he reaches down, and down, and he’s unbuttoning— “ _No_ ,” Hermann tries to wheeze out a token protest, but the back of his head hits the wall with a thud and he pitches his hips forward and oh _God_ , he _wants._

Newt’s fist closes around his cock and he squeezes both hands at the same time, and if Hermann could spare the breath he’d moan. Newt leans in, closer and closer, close enough that their breath mingles. “Newt’s in here, you know,” Newt—it’s _not_ him, Hermann needs to get _away_ —hisses in Hermann’s ear as he strokes rough and dry, “watching all this. Watching you.”

Hermann’s stomach _churns_ with equal parts arousal and shame and _loathing_ , unsure of whether the loathing is for himself or for the thing parading around with the face of the man he l—

“Don’t you want to know what your buddy thinks, _Hermann_ ,” Newt forces Hermann’s head back as far as the wall allows, and twists the wrist around his cock, and Hermann’s knees nearly give out, “watching you _get off_ like this?”

Hermann tries to shake his head. No, he doesn’t, he doesn’t want to know, he _doesn’t_ , Newt would be disgusted with him because they’re in Newt’s head, this isn’t Newt, but it feels and looks and Newt, but Newt would be a soft lover—

“Watching you get off with his _body_ like the desperate—”

_Oh, God_ , Hermann thinks, and then Newt rubs his thumb over the head of his cock and he thinks _more, please, please, please._

“He’s begging us not to hurt you,” Newt snarls, fingers _clenching down_ , and Hermann’s feeling dizzy from lack of air, and he might die, actually, that’s something his _damned_ brain hadn’t considered. “Begging us to let you go. Because he _loves_ you, did you know that, Hermann?” He bites on Hermann’s earlobe, speeds up his strokes, and it _hurts_ and Hermann thinks _yes_ , _yes_ , and he also thinks _he loves_ —? “He loves you, and he’s fighting _so_ hard for you, but here you are letting us _touch_ you while he watches and can’t do—”

_Oh, my God,_ Hermann shuts his eyes—

“You should see,” Newt says, “how much he’s thought about doing this to you. Well,” Newt gives a half-shrug, and it’s so _Newt_ that Hermann feels tears prickle at the corners of his eyes, “not _this_ this, he’s too much of a romantic for that, but he wants _so badly_ to be the one feeling—”

Hermann comes so hard he goes limp in Newt’s grasp, shaking and choking for air and still scrabbling at Newt’s fingers, needing something to cling to, and Newt’s laugh is twisted and ugly. “Hot,” he says, yanking his hand out of Hermann’s briefs and wiping it on the front of Hermann’s slacks, staining the fabric. He looks gleeful. “We—he didn’t know you how kinky you are, Hermann.”

_I’m sorry, Newt, I’m sorry, I’m sorry_ , Hermann thinks, but it doesn’t really matter, does it, because that hand around his throat hasn’t stopped squeezing, and he’ll be dead in a few moments anyway, he wonder how long it’ll be before he sees (his) Newt again (is it selfish to want Newt to just give up, so they can be together?), and he hopes Newt (his Newt) isn’t angry—

Gunshots. Newt drops him; Hermann falls, wheezing, to the floor, damp and sticky and shaking, eyes wet. He sees Shao ready to fire at Newt and he thinks _no, no_ and grabs for his cane and _swipes out_ , and Newt’s made it out of the room (alive, thank God, Newt's alive), and Shao—

“He’s not himself,” Hermann wheezes out, _I’m sorry, Hermann, they’re in my head_ , “they’re controlling him, he’s not—” _Don’t hurt him,_ he thinks, desperately, and he wonders if he’ll have bruises on his neck in the shape of Newt’s fingerprints tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> this is where i apologize


End file.
